Remember when we first shared bed,

skin hungry, pasted together

belly to belly?

Breathing the hot used air,

letting our limbs go numb,

we thought we could sleep

like that forever.

 

Now we share gold years and bed,

quiet on our own claimed side,

space between our weighted backs.

Breathing our own wide air,

we move often

to adjust blood and dreams.

 

When I sense your body sighing,

surrendering to sleep,

I slide my foot across the smooth divide

to touch your leg for anchor.

 

 

From Dust and Fire, 2011

This poem won the Susan Carol Hauser Prize for Writing.